Cora's Wake
by Addicted1
Summary: After the events of "The Miller's Daughter" (S2.16), David shows up on Regina's doorstep with something to say. Oneshot. For EC Week 2017's Free Day.


**A/N:** This is set after S2.16, "The Miller's Daughter," on the day of Cora's death, several hours later.  
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"If you are here to beg for your duplicitous wife's life, you needn't have bothered. I haven't decided whether I'm going to kill her, and I assure you that your _charming_ opinion will have no bearing on the matter."

"Regina, wait."

"What?" Regina surprised herself by asking. She'd meant to slam the door in his face.

"I came to say I'm sorry." Charming's earnest expression grated against her nerves.

"Sure you are," she scoffed cynically.

"No, I am," Charming insisted. "Well, not really—"

Regina huffed and slouched against the doorframe, crossing her arms across her chest.

"What I mean," Charming's words tripped over each other as he tried to get them out before Regina set him on fire, "is that I'm not sorry that you're mother's dead—"

"Well that's great." Regina leveraged against her hip to right herself into her typical, imposing posture. "Thank you for stopping by. Your gloating has been duly noted, and I'm sure the dwarves will be most gratified that you made time in your busy King schedule to cement your victory by rubbing the Evil Queen's face in it. I'll be sure to have it recorded in the Town's minutes."

"No, Regina, stop." Charming rubbed a hand harshly across his face. "That's not what I mean, and I think you know it. I can't be sorry Cora's dead. She was coming after my family, and she would have killed them. I will sleep better at night because she's gone."

"Are you quite finished?" The joint of Regina's jaw flexed visibly with each word.

"No." Charming propped his hands on his hips and looked down, as though he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "I'm not sorry Cora is dead. But I _am_ sorry that you lost your mother. And I am sorry for how it happened." He shook his head. "That wasn't right. Snow shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have been part of it. That was cruel and wrong, and I'm sorry."

Regina's eyebrows had merged with her hairline. She opened and closed her mouth like a guppy. She tried to form words, but no speech would come.

Charming looked her over and gave a brief nod of satisfaction as though that was the reaction he had expected or even desired.

Then he pushed her door open and walked past her into her house.

Regina sputtered in a manner that she would categorically deny ever doing.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" She whirled on her five inch stilettos.

"Pouring you a drink."

And indeed he was.

Charming had walked right into her study and poured her a tumbler of her apple cider.

Despite herself, she trailed after him into the room and accepted the glass as he poured one for himself.

After a sip, Regina looked at him with far more curiosity and far less skepticism than she was comfortable with.

"Why?"

"Because your mother just died, and you shouldn't be alone." David swallowed a generous gulp of the drink that, surprisingly, was not too sweet.

"So you're here?"

"Henry's with Emma, and you don't want to see Snow." Charming shrugged a shoulder. "That leaves me."

"Yes, but I don't want to see _you_ either."

"Ahh, but I'm likable."

"Not nearly as much as you think you are."

"But enough." Charming winked at her, and she laughed. It wasn't a robust sound, but it was a laugh.

Charming beamed. "See, I can be good company."

Regina tilted her head in reluctant acquiescence and opened her arm in the direction of the loveseat.

He accepted her unspoken invitation and sat on the side nearest the swivel chair she descended into, the coffee table within easy reach for both of them.

Regina swirled her cider in her glass. "So, does your _dear_ wife know where you are?"

Just because she didn't kick him out didn't mean she didn't still want to gut his wife and use her internal organs to start the blaze that would turn the town to ash.

Regina had, however, decided to put off destroying everyone until the morning. Henry didn't like it when she killed people and, while she didn't take his simplified moral view of the matter, she would at least wait out this first wave of raging impulsivity before she committed another mass murder.

She was trying, after all, to be a better parent.

"You really want to talk about Snow?" Charming brought her mind back to her question.

"I never want to talk about Snow. But I spent years doing nothing _but_ talking about her when what I wanted was to forget her. Why should that change now?"

Regina eyed her glass like it had betrayed her. Surely it was at fault for that sudden, uncharacteristic honesty. Then she shot an accusing glare at Charming.

"Did you put something in this? Some kind of inhibition demolisher? Did Rumple give it to you? What are you playing at?"

"Whoa, whoa." Charming pushed the air down with his palms in the international charade symbol of 'calm down and please don't kill me.' "I didn't put anything in your glass other than your cider. If your inhibitions have been demolished, then you did the demolishing, not me."

Regina quirked an eyebrow. Charming was a lousy liar, and it had been a _day_ (week, month, year, curse, life, really), so she took another sip.

Besides, if Charming was going to spike her drink with something, he was much more likely to use cyanide than some Harry Potter veritaserum.

He was much more the 'act now, ask questions never' kind of man.

She rather liked that about him.

Despite the fact that the result tended to be swords flung at her chest.

Regina respected people who got things _done_.

"So does she?" Regina asked again.

"Does who what?"

Regina rolled her eyes. Apparently, she wasn't the only one in the room whose mind was wandering. "Does Snow know you're here?"

"She does." David nodded and took a long pull from his glass.

"And she let you come?"

"She wasn't pleased."

"But you're still here." Regina's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I make my own decisions."

The furrows in Regina's forehead deepened.

"I do!"

"Okay, sure, whatever you say, Charming . . ."

"I do!"

"Fine! If you insist." Regina shrugged a shoulder, clearly unconvinced.

"What? Why don't you believe me?"

"Oh no reason." Regina's manner was overly breezy. "Just that, in the decades we've known each other, I can't remember you having _ever_ done that before."

Charming glared at her, but there was no force behind it.

Regina shifted in her seat. The amicable atmosphere in the room disconcerted her. Weren't they supposed to be attempting to kill each other?

This friendly mocking and faux-glaring was off-script.

Regina straightened in her chair.

"You can go. I'm not going to hurt or kill anyone. I don't need a babysitter," she snapped at him.

Charming flinched at the shift in her tone and then schooled his features back into amiability.

"That's good," he replied, "since I'm a lousy one."

Regina eyed him suspiciously.

"Shoved my infant daughter in a tree so she could go to a new land alone." Charming ticked the incidents off on his fingers. "Couldn't find my grandson because he'd snuck off to an insanely dangerous vault . . . any of this ringing a bell for you?"

The corner of Regina's mouth curled into a humorless smile. "You can't possibly be as blasé about either of those events as you're pretending to be."

"I'm not." Charming's manner turned unsettlingly serious. "But they happened. And if I don't acknowledge that, how can I learn from them?"

Rather than answer, Regina slowly shook her head. She topped off both their glasses.

"Cheers." She lifted her drink in his direction.

"To what?" he asked.

"To owning our decisions."

"Even the bad ones?"

"Especially the bad ones."

"I'll drink to that." He clinked their glasses together, and they both took a long pull of cider. Charming felt something in his chest coil and loosen at the same time.

Fleetingly, he thought that should worry him, but he shrugged the thought off and took another drink.

"So you're really not here to babysit me?" Regina asked.

"Nope." Charming popped the 'p.' "I told you. I didn't think you should be alone."

"Right." Regina bobbed her head.

Charming's lips quirked upward. Only Regina could nod her head _sarcastically_.

"Because we're such good friends." Her voice was so dry that it felt brittle against the air.

"Ha. Point taken." David leaned toward her, resting his forearms on his thighs. "We're not friends, Regina, but we _are_ family."

"My sham marriage to your dead father-in-law does not make us family." Regina drained her glass and winced at her emotional transparency. Why hadn't she kicked him out yet?

Maybe he was right. Maybe she didn't want to be alone.

"No, it doesn't. But Henry does."

Regina's heart stuttered.

Or maybe that was it. Charming had a way of speaking the truth without making her feel trapped.

It had been a long time since someone had spoken to her that way.

Regina inhaled deeply, searching for her equilibrium. Much as she appreciated his honesty, she was more accustomed to bullshit or threats.

She was out of her element with the shepherd king.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and hummed noncommittally into her cider.

Infuriatingly, Charming just smiled at her.

Regina curled into her armchair and allowed the conversation to die. She hadn't tossed him out of her house, but that didn't mean she was going to bother to play hostess. Since he was so determined to stick around, he could entertain himself.

Which he did.

For nearly an hour, they sipped their drinks, and Charming seemed perfectly content with the silence.

Regina was surprised to hear her own voice break it.

"I'm sorry, too."

"Huh?" Charming knitted his brow and tried to find the context for her apology.

"About your mother." Regina traced patterns on her glass with her fingertip. "You also lost your mother, and I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Charming's voice sounded genuine enough, but his expression was uncharacteristically closed off.

"What was she like, your mother?"

"Less homicidal than yours."

Regina's head jerked at the sudden display of spite, but she recovered quickly, secretly relieved to see a less-than-perfect side to the _charming_ man.

There was a teasing twinkle in her eye when she responded.

"Well, that's not fair. That's hardly descriptive at all. Few people could hold a candle to my mother's homicidal mania, though it must be pointed out, for the sake of accuracy, that she cared much more about control than death."

Regina almost felt sorry for Charming. The confusion on his face made a pathetic picture.

"She _collected_ hearts. She didn't crush them. That's control, not murder." Regina twisted the glass in her hand.

"That's worse."

"Perhaps, but you still haven't answered my question."

"What?"

"What was your mother like?"

"Simple, scared. Desperate. Kind." David swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler and stared at it. He brushed a hand over his head. "You weren't kidding. It _is_ like there's an inhibition demolisher in this." He chuckled, but it felt heavier than normal, less natural.

Charming looked up to meet her gaze. "I've never told anybody that before."

Regina shrugged in a very un-Regina-like motion. "Your secret is safe with me. I could tell everyone and no one would believe me."

"Ha! True!" He raised his glass. "To finding the perfect confidante . . . by picking the most inappropriate person possible."

Regina chuckled despite herself, clinking their tumblers together and downing the rest of her drink. Any moment now, she'd be feeling her muscles loosen.

"Kind. That sounds nice." Regina stamped down the roar in the back of her mind that demanded she not reveal so much of herself. Charming was her enemy, and he would use this knowledge against her.

Her intuition, however, said that he wouldn't. It said that he meant it when he said they were family and that—blood feud or no—he'd prefer not to hurt her.

He'd even prefer to help her.

She could be wrong. After all, she had excellent reasons for the lifetime embargo she had placed on trust, but it had been a hellish day. It was nice to hear about someone else's life problems rather than fixating on her own.

She'd deal with the consequences in the morning.

That's what Dark Curses were for.

"So what was that like?" Regina asked.

"What was what like?"

"Umm, the kindness." Regina tugged the lock of hair behind her ear, ashamed of her question.

Charming looked at Regina with a sharpness that belied his alcohol consumption, and he repressed the urge to pull her into a tight hug. When she wouldn't meet his eyes, he adopted an extra-casual manner, hoping to put her more at ease.

"It wasn't something I noticed at the time. It was just an everyday, all-the-time thing. She was never impatient. She never spoke a sharp word to anyone. And it wasn't like she was rolling in leisure time—we were up at dawn every day working the farm—but she never rushed anyone. She treated each person like they were important." He chuckled and shook his head at the memories. "There was this man, and he would deliver the hay for the horses each week. Chuck, I think his name was. Every week, my mom would greet him with milk, bread, and cheese and invite him to sit and rest."

"So she had a thing for the hay man? How scandalous!" Regina winked.

"Ha! No, it wasn't like that. He was a bit slow. Not all there in the head. Most people couldn't be bothered to try with him. Communicating was a lot of work with Chuck. But not Mother. No, she would invite him in and visit with him every week. She would encourage him to talk and laugh at his jokes. He only had two, and he told the same two every week. For years. She laughed every time."

Charming rubbed the back of his neck. "I asked her once, how she could stand it, listening to the same boring stories week after week . . . ."

"What did she say?" Regina leaned forward in her chair, nearly tipping herself out of it, like being closer to Charming would enable her to hear his answer sooner.

"She said, 'It makes his row easier to hoe.'" Charming met Regina's gaze. "That was it. That was her whole explanation. She helped because she could." He shrugged, as though to dislodge the heavy weight from the room off his shoulders. "It's a nice idea, I think. To help just because you can."

"It is nice," Regina agreed quietly.

The silence returned. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't uncomfortable either. It felt like tenuous possibility.

"Can you forgive her?" David shattered the silence.

"For what?" Regina knew he had to be referring to Cora.

"Shoving you into Rumplestiltskin's clutches."

"She did not—" Regina's rote defense was leaving her mouth before she even thought it.

"She did." Charming was firm. This was not a night for platitudes.

Regina picked at a loose thread on her chair. She'd have to remember to cut that later.

"Look, it's none of my business—" Charming started again.

"No, it's not." Regina's voice snapped Charming's off.

"But I just thought that, if you could—forgive her, that is." Charming's fumbling surprised Regina into listening. He usually spoke with such certainty. "Maybe you would tell me how you did it, and then maybe I could forgive my mother."

"Oh." Regina was stuck. He wasn't trying to trick her or make fun of her. He was asking for her _help_. Her help in forgiving his mother, who, she was now remembering, traded him to Rumplestiltskin as part of some political charade by George.

She was completely unprepared for such an eventuality.

"I don't think I can help you," Regina said quietly.

"Not that you would if you could." Charming aimed for a light, teasing manner, but it fell flat and false.

"Right." Regina replied in kind. Her smile was supposed to be teasing but looked pained.

"Wouldn't look good for our feud. What would the dwarves think?" The forced lightness was becoming a little less forced.

"Their opinion does keep me up at night."

Charming half-smiled. Regina's dry wit had put them back in familiar territory, and the tension in the room dissipated.

"I wish I could help you." Regina couldn't believe she meant that.

He could.

"That's okay," Charming replied, "I'm used to it." It's not like his mother betrayed him yesterday. He'd been carrying that reality around for decades. What difference was a few more?

"No, you're not." Regina was not going to accept his platitudes any more than he had accepted hers.

"No, I'm not. Neither are you." Charming shrugged. "Is being sold to a king by your mother something you can get over?"

"You're asking me?"

"You can empathize."

"Indeed I can. But I'm hardly the poster child for healthy coping mechanisms."

"More like a pin-up girl?"

"Excuse me?" Regina was taken aback. How'd they get from the child slave trade to pin-up girl?

"Your Evil Queen get-up—more pin-up girl than poster child." Charming winked at her roguishly.

Regina tried to find a credible denial but merely sputtered in a most un-Regina-like manner.

"Give it up, Regina." Charming smirked. "You did it on purpose. I'm just saying it was effective."

Before she could embarrass herself by doing something so ridiculous as blushing, Regina asked "How much of that," Regina waved a hand at his cider, "have you had?"

"Not enough."

"Me neither."

Regina filled their glasses perilously close to spilling.

They lapsed into silence. It felt like a friend to them, familiar and comforting.

Regina rose, left the room, and returned with four bottles of water.

She handed Charming two.

"Thanks." He twisted the top off one, lifted it to his lips, and drank it all. He held the empty bottle up to her. "Apparently I needed that."

"Not all my ideas are bad." Regina winked. (The alcohol must have gone to her head. She was not, and never had been, a winker. Well, except when Henry was little. But that was different. Henry was different.)

"Most of them are quite brilliant."

"It hasn't felt that way. Lately, every single one has blown up in my face." Regina swirled the liquid in her glass.

"You've been panicking. Hard to get plans to work out when you're panicking."

"Hmmm, true." Regina pulled at the loose thread in her chair again. "I'll have to be calmer in my desperation next time."

"It's what I would recommend."

"Oh, you would, would you?" Regina huffed. "Giving up your day jobs as Animal Shelter Manager and Consort King to start a consulting business for deposed monarchs?"

"I'm thinking about it." Charming attempted seriousness, but his lips were already twitching traitorously upward. Regina's poker expression was firmly in place, but he could see laughter in her eyes, and it was contagious. "I just feel I have so much to give."

The absurdity of that statement broke them both, and they burst into peels of laughter.

"With all my regal experience," Charming doubled forward and slapped his hand on his knee, "penning sheep!"

"Sheep are notoriously hard to lead." Regina laughed and gasped for air. "Being herd animals and all!"

They cracked up even harder. Charming's face was turning red, and Regina swiped tears from her eyes.

Regina's hand felt too wet. She felt her cheek again and looked at her wet hand.

Tears were streaming from her eyes.

She wasn't just laughing; she was crying, truly crying.

Charming stopped laughing mid-exhale at Regina's stillness.

"Get out." Her voice was low and threatening, but her gaze stayed on her hand held out in front of her.

"No."

Her head swiveled toward him, and she glared. "Out. Now."

"No."

Regina's eyes became slits and her glare intensified. Charming felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

This could be how he finally died.

"Your mother died today, Regina." Charming was almost as surprised as she was to hear himself speak while having a flight or fight adrenaline response. It was kind of his M.O. though. "You are allowed—strike that—you are _supposed_ to cry."

Regina's glare remained, but the edges of it softened, and he wasn't engulfed in a fireball, so he decided to count that as a win.

Neither moved except for the rise and fall of their chests, and even that movement felt inflammatory and intrusive.

The moments stretched and pulled against time.

Regina set her glass down and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Charming sagged into the cushions and let go of a long exhale.

Twenty minutes later, when he'd about given up on her ever returning, Regina re-entered the room and perched herself back on her chair. Her make-up was perfectly applied, and not a hair was out of place. There was exactly zero evidence that anything had ever fazed her, let alone made her cry.

Charming dared not comment.

They resumed drinking in silence, but this silence was brittle, as though a single misstep would shatter it.

Charming could feel the stress and grief emanating from Regina. Despite their history—or maybe because of it, since their history is why he knew her so well—he wished he could comfort her. His impulse to hold her, tuck her head under his, and stroke her back was almost unbearably strong.

But his survival instinct was stronger.

One did not hug anguished tigers.

He settled for opening her second bottle of water. He held it out to her.

Regina looked from his face to the bottle and back again.

She accepted the bottle and took a sip.

Just like that, the brittleness receded, and the silence felt safe again.

A bottle of water and some more cider later, Charming broke the silence.

"Tell me something good."

"Huh?" Regina was too worn out to hold herself to her typical standards of articulation.

"About your mother. Tell me something good."

"I don't . . ." Regina started to deflect.

"Oh, come on. There's something. If there wasn't anything good, you would have killed her a long time ago." Charming somehow managed to plead without pleading.

"I tried to."

"What?" It was Charming's turn to be confused.

"I tried to kill her. Well, have her killed. Turns out the pirate is incompetent."

"Oh." Charming was at a loss. Regina's matter-of-fact attitude toward such a repugnant act had him off-footed.

"I know I should have done it myself, but I . . . I couldn't."

"Because you loved her." Charming breathed a small sigh of relief. He knew she wasn't as cold as she pretended to be.

"No." Regina's firm contradiction put Charming on guard again. He didn't understand this woman at all. He'd just watched her cry, but now there seemed to be ice in her veins.

"I loved my father," she continued, "and I killed him. I couldn't kill her, because I _couldn't_. When I, when I killed my father—" Regina gulped a chunk of air. She'd never said that out loud before. "—I could feel how much he loved me. As I crushed his heart, I could feel how he'd already forgiven me through his grief for me." Her head dropped toward her chest. "I was too far gone for that to reach me, but I felt it, and I remembered."

Regina wrapped the loose thread from her chair several times around her finger. She pulled it tightly, and her fingertip turned pink, then, red, then angry purple.

"But with Cora?" Charming asked.

Regina released her finger and looked up.

"I knew that she would thwart any attempt I would make to kill her and that my inability to murder her would deepen her disappointment in me."

"That is horrible."

"That's Mother." Regina took a sip of cider and remembered to correct herself. "That _was_ Mother."

"I'm sorry."

"She was a heartless witch."

"She was your mother."

"Do you have any idea how irresponsible it is for a _witch_ to be heartless?" Regina's eyes blazed with sudden anger. "There's a reason we're all obsessed with hearts, you know. They are powerful. Part of that power, though, is that they act as a natural check on whatever spell or enchantment you use. It's not a limiting agent, per se, but that's not an incorrect non-magical description—"

"Wow." Charming's eyes were large and round.

"What?" Regina snapped.

"Just, umm, I've never seen you like this."

"What? Drunk?"

"No, well yes, but that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"Passionate."

"Oh." His answer took the wind out of Regina's sails. She'd been prepared for insults, not kindness.

"Well, passionate without the manic, compulsive homicidalness." Charming gave her an easy smile to show that he wasn't trying to reopen old wounds or cast blame.

" 'Homicidalness' is not a word." Regina slurred 'homicidalness', so her fact-checking didn't quite carry the punch she'd intended.

"You know what I mean." Charming meant to wave his hand dismissively, but ended up waving his entire arm about like a Bollywood dance parody.

"Yes. Yes, I do know," Regina confirmed. "I still might kill your wife though."

"Eh, you've been saying that for YEARS. Give it up."

"What?"

"Clearly you don't mean it." Charming leaned across the arm of the loveseat and into Regina's face. "You would have done it already. You could have snapped her neck during the curse or smothered her in her sleep or cut the brakes on her car—and that's just in Storybrooke. That doesn't count all the times you could have finished her in the Enchanted Forest. Nah, you're not going to kill her."

His piece said, Charming flopped back into the sofa cushions.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Regina countered, recovered from the shock of having a drunk Charming suddenly in her face. "She just killed my mother."

"Who would have killed her and you know it."

"She used me to do it."

"That was wrong."

"But killing my mother wasn't?"

"Aren't you a war criminal?" Charming's brow furrowed. How was it possible that _Regina_ was trying to take the moral high ground?

"Almost certainly. Doesn't mean I don't know right from wrong. Just means I don't always _care_."

"I think you do. Care."

"You're the only one."

"For right now." Charming shrugged. "The others will come around."

"I don't share your delusion."

"You're missing out. Delusions are great."

"Indeed." Regina found herself smiling fondly at Charming, much to her disgust. He had mostly yawned the word "delusions", which for some reason she found endearing.

Clearly, it was time to go to sleep. She had obviously lost her mind, so it was time to sleep it off.

Regina chucked an afghan at Charming's head.

Charming brought his arms up as though defending himself from an assault.

Regina rewarded his obtuseness by whacking him on the head with a throw pillow.

"I'm not attacking you, you ridiculous man!" Another whack. "I'm giving you a blanket and pillow! You can crash here tonight."

"Oh." Charming peeked his head up from over his still-raised arms. "Thank you?"

"Yes, 'thank you' is the appropriate response. Good job." Regina surveyed the room, going through her mental hostess checklist in her mind. "The bathroom is down that hall. You know where the kitchen is. Make yourself at home down here. I'll be upstairs. Don't try anything heroic or sneaky or clever. It won't work, and I'll kill you, and then I'll be crabby, because I _like_ my REM cycle. I don't want to be crabby. This town is trying enough. Got it?"

"Stay downstairs. Got it." Charming nodded.

"Good."

Charming lifted up the afghan and pillow. "Thanks."

His delivery was simple and honest.

"You're welcome."

So was hers.

"Good night, Charming."

"Good night, Regina."  
.

* * *

. 

Charming opened his eyes and immediately shut them again.

Too bright.

He squinted them open just a bit and saw a blurry Regina-shaped object leaning over him and felt it shake his arm.

The blurry, Regina-shaped object smelled good. He wanted it to stay close. It smelled clean, like crisp soap, and like freshly-brewed coffee, and like something else warm. And spicy.

He inhaled deeply and snuggled further into the cushions.

"Nope," the object, which also sounded like Regina, shoved his shoulder hard. "Time to get up. I will not have your wife showing up and demanding you back like I've taken you hostage. Because then I'll kill her out of irritation, and I'd rather kill her for revenge. It's more gratifying in the long-term."

Definitely sounded like Regina. Charming squinted again. Looked like Regina, sounded like Regina, smelled . . . Good, but couldn't possibly _be_ Regina, because . . . .

"Are you wearing denim?" Charming yawned and stretched through his question.

"Yes." Regina arched an eyebrow. "Why? Is that a problem?"

"No, 'course not." Charming sat up. "I've just never seen you in denim."

"Well, it is my house."

"I assumed you slept in those power suits and killer heels."

"I assure you I am not that one-dimensional."

"I'm learning that."

He smiled up at her, and she returned it.

"Well," he slapped his hands on his knees before the warm moment could deepen and thicken into something that would be a Very Bad Idea, "the denim suits you. You should consider wearing it out of your house as well as in it."

"Hmm, how _charming_ ," she teased.

"So they tell me." He stood and then sighed as though imposed upon. "I would have preferred 'witty,' but it is better than 'ingratiating.' "

Regina laughed and looked surprised at the sound. Feeling exposed, she spun on her heel, led him to the foyer, and opened her front door.

Obediently, he walked through it onto her stoop.

Charming turned to face her.

"Thank you for letting me in."

"You're welcome."

With a small nod and a smile, he started down the walkway.

"Wait, David—"

A few steps shy of the sidewalk, he stopped and pivoted to face her.

"Not 'Charming'?", he teased her with a roguish grin.

"Would you prefer 'Charming'?" she retorted with an exasperated shake of her head.

"No."

"Well, then," she arched an eyebrow and cocked a hand on her hip, "maybe you should leave well enough alone."

"Maybe I should." He nodded in exaggerated agreement. "That doesn't sound like something I'm very good at though."

"No," Regina shook her head and suppressed a smile, "it doesn't."

They held each other's gaze, and, as David's smile grew broader, Regina felt hers bloom across her face.

Regina cleared her throat.

"As I was about to say—"

"Before I interrupted you to point out you used my first name, which strongly implies that you like me."

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"You like me." He grinned cheekily.

"As I was saying, _Charming_ ," she continued, as he clutched at his chest like she'd wounded him, "you owe me cider."

"And a couple bottles of water," he added.

"And a couple bottles of water," she agreed.

"Don't worry," he winked.

Then, David promised, "I'm good for it."

 _I know you are,_ Regina thought.

"You'd better be," she said.

Charming smiled, tipped his imaginary hat to her, and walked the rest of the way down the path.

Regina watched him climb into this truck and drive away.

And, just like that, it was another day.

.

.

.


End file.
